


thought we were obvious (but nobody knew)

by grydo2life



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, Marriage, Mild Language, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2012-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 04:45:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grydo2life/pseuds/grydo2life
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Does Director Fury know about this?”</i>
  <br/><i>“I would hope so,” Coulson intones, “considering the fact that he’s the one who officiated it.”</i>
</p>
<p>Or, 5 times the Avengers should have realized Clint and Coulson were married, and the 1 time they finally did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	thought we were obvious (but nobody knew)

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill for something over on the cc-feelsmeme. (Technically a double fill -- lucdarling beat me to it -- but I wanted to post it anyway, since I already had it nearly completed.) This is also my first attempt at writing for this fandom so I hope it's well received!

**Five times The Avengers should have realized Clint and Phil were married…**

5.

It isn’t exactly well known to anyone outside of the Avengers and their inner circle, but Clint Barton is actually pretty damn fantastic in the kitchen. 

They don’t really talk about it, and Clint never brings it up, but it’s become something of an unwritten rule in the Mansion that, on the days he can be coerced into cooking, everyone will be present, accounted for, and in the right place come dinner time. It almost always turns into a big production; no one wants to miss a chance to taste whatever it is he’ll be tossing together, especially considering how rare an occasion it is. 

This is why Tony is a little bit shocked when he wanders into the kitchen on an early Saturday morning and finds Clint there at the stove, shirtless and with a spatula in hand, his hair sticking up in every direction as if he’d come straight from bed to start breakfast. 

“You’re cooking?” He questions, only it comes off as more of an offended demand.

Seriously, how could Clint be cooking and not _tell_ anyone? 

Clint grunts, his full focus on the omelet in the pan in front of him. He’s always like this in the kitchen, so Tony knows better than to be offended by the lack of attention. There’s a plate on the island counter behind the archer, already occupied and looking delicious. 

“You never make breakfast,” Tony observes, making a beeline for the food. He’s been up for almost 24 hours now and it’s only now occurred to him that he’s starving.

“I make breakfast all the time,” Clint counters, not unfriendly, and now he’s grabbing a second plate and expertly maneuvering the fresh omelet onto it. “Just not for you.” Just as Tony’s reaching for the plate, something sharp smacks his hand and then a fork is clattering to the floor. When Tony glances up from it, Clint is looking at him pointedly. “Today’s no exception.”

And, well. Tony doesn’t pout, because genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropists don’t _pout_. He just looks attractively disgruntled. Clint merely smirks at him and collects the plates. “Then who the hell is the second one for?” Tony demands, trailing after Clint as the archer makes his way out of the kitchen and towards the living room.

His question is answered a second later when he catches sight of _Coulson_ , of all people, sitting on the couch. He sits up a little straighter when Clint gets close and takes the second plate with a small smile when it’s offered. (Which is just a little bit disturbing, because Tony’s never actually seen him give more than an evil smirk. And anyway, how the hell did the agent get inside the mansion without his knowing? He’s going to have to have a talk with JARVIS later.)

There’s a bit of bickering between agent and archer over the television and what to watch, but Clint wins in the end, and a second later, there are cartoons playing on Tony’s ridiculously large flatscreen and the two settle in to eat their food.

It’s kind of painfully domestic, but Tony doesn’t question it. His thoughts are still lingering on the smell of the omelets and his own rumbling stomach.

He wonders if he can maybe get Steve to make him something, and wanders off to find out.

 

4.

It’s kind of embarrassing, really. The explosion isn’t even really that _big_. It’s actually a tiny little thing that only takes out half of a wall, and by all accounts, isn’t even really worth a second glance.

Except for that part where the half of a wall that it takes out happens to fall right onto Coulson.

It doesn’t really do much damage to anything other than Coulson’s pride and suit, but the others still have the decency to look worried as they help dig him out. Hulk is even fairly gentle as he lifts the SHIELD agent out of the rubble and sets him on his feet, and Tony is kind enough to not say anything at all. 

Really, it’s not that big a deal.

Except, apparently, it is. At least to Hawkeye.

“A fucking _building_ fell on you.” Clint half-growls while Coulson attempts to wave away the medics fussing over him. Whether or not they’re fussing more than Clint is difficult to tell, but no one comments. “Let them check you over, goddamn it.”

“It was hardly a building.” Coulson points out, flippant. “And I’m _fine_.” 

He sounds a little bit exasperated, but otherwise, he handles Clint’s mild panic attack with little more than an eyeroll and a brief order to calm down. When Clint continues to harp on him, obviously worried and unusually open about it, Coulson sighs and relents, holding out his arm so someone can take his blood pressure and shooting the archer a look, as if to say, _I’m only doing this for you_.

The other Avengers watch this in mild discomfort, feeling a little bit like they’re intruding on something they aren’t supposed to see. Minus Natasha, who looks utterly unruffled, as per usual.

“They’ve been friends for a while, haven’t they?” Steve asks her quietly. “I’ve never seen Clint so worked up before.”

She hums in a noncommittal fashion, which Steve takes for agreement. He politely ignores the fond look she shoots Coulson and Clint, who are still staring each other down, figuring it’s not something she’d want to be called out on. 

It’s not really his business, anyway.

 

3.

The life insurance policies are one of those things about SHIELD that really shouldn’t be surprising, but are anyway. 

“You’re all required to have them,” Coulson addresses them from the front of the meeting room, turning to observe them all as he speaks. He has the air of someone who has been doing this for long enough that the slouched stances and feet on the table are not at all a surprise. “And no,” he cuts Tony off before he can finish opening his mouth, “having your own policy does not exempt you.”

“It’s a legal thing,” Clint offers helpfully. He’s not actually in a chair, but rather sitting on the table itself. Coulson’s eye had given a tiny twitch when he’d walked in and seen him there, but otherwise, the agent hasn’t risen to the bait, and Clint hasn’t moved. “So they can cover their asses. Right, boss?”

Coulson doesn’t deign to answer him, instead occupying himself with passing around manila folders. “You’re not allowed to leave until the policies are signed.” He informs them. “I’ll be in my office; do not call me unless someone is bleeding or dead.” That last bit is aimed pointedly at Clint, who smiles innocently. “There are agents outside to make sure you don’t leave before you’re done. I realize most of you could take them out easily enough, but please be aware that you’ll be doing your own paperwork on the incident if it comes to that.”

He pauses, observes the room as if he’s waiting for someone to raise their hand and ask a question. When it’s clear no one has anything to say, he leaves them alone with their folders.

They’re quiet for a few seconds, the only sounds being that of paper being flipped and pens being tapped. Tony makes an unimpressed noise as he reads. “This is just stupid,” he grumbles. They’re saved from further complaints by Natasha, who has immediately flipped to the end of her folder and is signing it with a flourish. Once she’s finished, she snaps the folder shut, stands, and struts out.

Tony stares after her, and then demands, “How the hell did she finish so fast?”

Clint, who is still on the table, tells him, “We’ve done all this before. All they really need is our signature to keep things up to date.” In spite of this, he’s flipping through his folder slowly, taking the time to go over his information, pausing over each page.

He’s sitting in front of Tony, more or less, with his folder on the table in front of him, and Tony can’t really help the fact that he can read incredibly fast and upside down to boot. “Wait, you have _Coulson_ listed as your beneficiary?” 

“Tony!” Steve looks appalled. “These are supposed to be private!”

But Clint doesn’t look offended or even bothered. Rather, he’s giving Tony a strange look, like he’s surprised at Tony’s surprise. “Yeah,” he says simply. “Has been for a couple of years.” He smiles, briefly, flips to the last page and signs it easily. Tossing a two-fingered salute to the others, he slides off the table and makes his way out.

Tony and Steve watch him go briefly, share a look between them, and go back to their own forms. 

2.

Like most bad ideas, this one starts with Tony. More precisely, it starts with Tony being bored.

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” He wheedles, sitting right on the edge of his chair and giving Steve the most pleading look he has in his supply. There are surprisingly few of them; up until SHIELD and the Avengers entered his life, Tony had been able to attain pretty much everything he wanted without ever having to consider asking for it. The few that he has, though, he makes very good use of.

Steve does not look at all convinced. There’s a lot about the modern world that he has learned to understand. The appeal of clubbing is not one of them. “I don’t know…”

“Think of it as a team building exercise!”

“How can it be team building if it’s just us two?”

And really, Steve should know better, because this is Tony Stark, and if you give him an inch, he’ll not only take a mile; he’ll leave you broke and possibly broken in his wake. 

Thankfully (or maybe not), this time around all he does is extend the invitation to Thor as well. (And to Natasha and Bruce, but Natasha claims to have other plans, they’re both just a tiny bit relieved when Bruce declines too. They can’t find Clint, but he’s always missing on Thursdays.)

“We need to stop somewhere to eat first,” Tony tells Steve as they all pile into one of his painfully expensive cars. Steve would have preferred they take something a little more nondescript, but Thor is fond of Tony’s taste in automobiles and it’s not worth dealing with the Aesir’s pout. “I’m _starving_.”

Steve frowns at him. “Don’t they have food at clubs?” 

Tony snorts. “Do you have any idea how overpriced that shit is?”

Steve considers pointing out that Tony is _rich_ and can afford it – he can certainly afford to splurge on every other ridiculous notion that passes through his head – but decides to pick his battles. 

In the backseat, Thor announces that he wants cheeseburgers. 

Tony shrugs and puts the car into drive.

They end up at a small diner a couple of miles away from the mansion. Steve has seen it a handful of times, mostly when on the way to SHIELD headquarters, and has thought once or twice about stopping in. He’s never actually done it until now, but he kind of regrets that when he gets inside. The place seems nice and cheerful, and the food smells amazing.

It’s not that busy, either, which is nice. There’s a small family in one of the booths against the far wall, an elderly couple at one of the tables, and there to the left is a pair that looks an awful lot like—

“My friends!” Thor booms excitedly, and both Coulson and Clint look momentarily horrified, like they’d been hoping they wouldn’t be noticed. The Norse god bounds over to where they’re sitting and claps them both on shoulder with enough force that Clint nearly chokes on his drink. “I was unaware that you would be joining us on our festivities!”

“Um…” Clint says, shooting Coulson a look that Steve thinks might be apologetic. 

“Is _this_ where you go on Thursdays?” Tony asks, before Clint can respond properly. He looks around the diner with a frown. “I always figured it you were just doing highly classified, super dangerous SHIELD things.”

“No, that would be Tuesdays.” Coulson deadpans, taking a sip of his coffee. 

Clint grins at him, and Steve hears some kind of shuffling under the table. “Not here, specifically,” he tells Tony. “But Phil and I go out for dinner every week. Provided something work-related doesn’t come up, I mean.” 

“A regular date-night, huh?” Tony teases, his grin just light enough to show he means no harm. Coulson doesn’t exactly roll his eyes, but it’s a close thing. Clint just laughs.

“Something like that.”

Thor smiles at them both. “I’m pleased that you both take such care to maintain your bonds of friendship.” He declares. He looks like he’s about to go back in for another round of backslapping, but luckily, a pretty waitress comes up before he can and tosses them all a sunny smile. She’s holding three menus.

“Are you adding to your party?” She asks Clint and Coulson, who look at each other for a moment, like they can actually communicate like that. Steve wonders if maybe they can.

“Um, well…” Clint says. Coulson inclines his just very slightly and Clint raises his eyebrows. And then they both make the mistake of looking at Thor, who looks downright eage. Clint’s shoulders slump and he tells her, “Yeah, sure.”

He shrugs at Coulson, as if to say _what can you do?_ and slides out of his side of the booth so Tony and Steve can take his place. Coulson just looks amused as he scoots over to make room. 

 

1.

The lights in medical facilities are always too bright and overly harsh. They always make you look paler than you really are.

Or at least that’s what Bruce tells them. It’s his way of trying to be comforting, they know. Sort of like Steve’s driving need to make regular coffee runs to keep them all caffeinated, or Tony’s tossing around money for better doctors and equipment even though it’s not needed or wanted, or Thor’s strong hand on every shoulder he passes, or Natasha’s protective stance near the doorway. They each have their own way of dealing with it.

None of them ever really help.

Clint has been out of surgery for nearly seventy-two hours now and hasn’t woken up yet. According to the doctors, there’s no guarantee that he actually _will_ , although at this point, it could go either way. The bullet came frighteningly close to nicking an artery, and the subsequent fall from nearly four stories high hadn’t helped at all, even if Hulk had been there to catch him.

“At this point,” the doctor tells them grimly, “all we can do is wait.”

And they do; sometimes all at once, sometimes on rotation, but there is always one of them there at some point. One of them, and Coulson, who hasn’t left since the archer was brought in.

The agent looks awful, like he hasn’t slept since Clint took a bullet and fell off a building. (He hasn’t.) Natasha brings him forms and paperwork to keep his mind busy, but most of them are half-finished or completely untouched. The Avengers are left floundering and on unsteady footing in the face of it; they have never seen Coulson so unraveled before, and it’s both surreal and terrifying to witness.

Bruce comes in from where he had stepped outside for a few moments and nods to Tony and Natasha. Steve and Thor are back at the mansion, but it will only last a few hours before they come back. Heading straight for Coulson, the scientist taps him on the shoulder and offers the Styrofoam cup in his hands.

Coulson takes it and goes to take a sip, then pauses over the top and shoot Bruce a glance. “This is spiked.” 

Bruce smiles, not unkindly, and ignores the way Tony sputters in the background. “I figured you could use something with a little more kick.” He pauses, and then, as if only now realizing that his gesture might not be well received, adds, “I can get you something else, if you prefer.”

But Coulson just shakes his head and gives the other man a grateful look. “This is fine. Thank you.”

He takes a slow sip and then curls his hands around the cup and goes back to his vigil. Tony watches him for a long moment, and for once, he is openly concerned. He’ll never admit it, but he holds a grudging sort of respect for Coulson; on a good day, he might even go so far as to call the man a friend.

“You know, you can go home, Coulson,” Tony says, trying to be gentle. “Get some sleep, some food maybe. You know we’ll call you if anything changes.”

Coulson doesn’t even spare him a glance; just takes another, slow sip of his not-quite-coffee and keeps his eyes on Clint. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says decisively, in a tone that threatens months of paperwork and possible violence if the suggestion is made again. 

Tony starts to argue, but a slim hand on his wrist stops him. Natasha shakes her and murmurs, softly, “Leave him, Tony. He needs to be here.”

Tony looks at her, and then back to Coulson, and finally to Clint. After a moment, he nods slowly, and settles back into his spot to wait.

It’s not like he can really do anything else, after all.

 

**…and the one time they finally did.**

The medical staff releases Clint only two days after he finally wakes up, but only because he makes a big enough menace of himself that it’s either that or sedation. As tempting as it is, Coulson knows how badly Clint hates sedatives of any kind, and so agrees to sign him out on the very strict condition that he actually _rest_ if Coulson takes him home.

Clint, of course, tries to bargain his way out of it. When that doesn’t work, he settles for, “If I do, will you stay with me?” and gives Coulson a look that the agent will never admit to being swayed by.

“ _Only_ if you rest.”

Clint grins. “I can do that.”

It turns out that, at least for today, that won’t be a problem, because the painkillers Clint has been on haven’t worn off yet and he dozes off on the drive back to the mansion. When they finally arrive, he wakes up only enough to demand to be set up on the living room couch, rather than his bedroom.

“TV,” he explains when Coulson gives him an exasperated look. “And it’s closer to the kitchen.”

Coulson sighs. “I’m sure if you asked the others wouldn’t mind bringing you what you need.” He points out. And then he gives Clint a small grin and offers, lightly, “Actually, I bet if you played it up, you might be able to con Stark into getting you a butler.”

But the joke falls flat, and Clint gives his a sharp look. “I’m not a goddamn invalid, Phil,” he snaps, “I don’t need other people to bring me my food.”

Coulson just sighs and doesn’t push. There are some fights that are just not worth it. Clint ends up on the couch like he wants, and Coulson steps outside for a moment to get a progress report from Sitwell and Hill. (He also informs them that they shouldn’t expect him back for the next day or two, and he pretends not to hear the amusement in Hill’s voice when she comments on it.)

When he comes back in, Clint is reclining on the cushions and absently channel surfing. He’s also wide awake.

“We had a deal,” Coulson reminds him as he rounds the couch. 

Clint settles on a comedy station and peers up at him with a small but sincere smile and soft eyes. “Was waiting for you,” he explains, and then stretches out an arm for the older man. Coulson catches his hand and takes the invitation, slipping into the spot Clint has left open for him. 

It only takes a moment for them to arrange themselves into something comfortable; they’ve got enough practice at it by now that they’ve honed it down to a fine skill, and they end up with Clint half-draped over Coulson, one of the agent’s arms around his shoulders, close enough that Coulson can drop a kiss to the crown of his head easily. Comfortable now, the archer sighs softly and it isn’t long before he’s drifting pleasantly.

And that is how the rest of the team finds them an hour later when they wander in from whatever group activity Steve has convinced them try. They’re not particularly loud, but the noise they make is enough to cause Clint to stir, and he waves at them from over the top of the couch sleepily. “Hey.”

Natasha is the first to reach them, and she frowns as soon as she catches sight of Clint. “You’re not supposed to be out of the infirmary yet.” She looks at Coulson disapprovingly, as if knowing this is his doing, and Coulson is only able to resist the urge to duck his head in shame because of several years’ worth of practice at ignoring that look.

Clint, of course, is absolutely no help. “Phil pulled some strings.” He tells her cheerfully, as if he doesn’t notice that she’s displeased.

“Phil?” Tony asks, just as he’s rounding the couch to get a better look. And then he stops and just sort of stares, apparently not expecting the sight he’s greeted by. Steve’s reaction is more polite but still not really all that great, and Bruce coughs into his hand and looks away. Thor just looks pleasantly confused.

Clint frowns. “What? I don’t look _that_ bad.” 

“You kind of do, actually,” Natasha informs him, climbing into the easy chair set up beside the couch.

“She’s right,” Coulson adds helpfully. Clint scowls at them both.

“Quiet from the peanut gallery,” he grouses, and Coulson chuckles and runs a hand down his flank soothingly.

“Are you two together?” Surprisingly, it’s Steve that blurts it out. Tony stills seems to be amazingly inarticulate, but he makes do by motioning in Steve’s direction and nodding pointedly. 

Clint stares at them blankly. “Um… yes?” He says it like he doesn’t understand the question.

“Married, actually,” Coulson offers. He glances at them each in turn with a mild frown. “I’m surprised none of you noticed sooner.” He’s fingering the ring that none of them have ever really paid much mind to, but now that they look, it’s very obviously a wedding band. Clint sits up enough to tug a chain out from under his shirt; his own ring glimmers prettily in the light.

“It interferes with my grip when I’m in the field,” he explains, before anyone can ask why he doesn’t wear it. He tucks it back from where it came once they’ve all seen.

“Does Director Fury know about this?”

Natasha snorts from where she’s sitting. Clint tosses a pillow in her direction lazily, and she doesn’t bother trying to stop it.

“I would hope so,” Coulson intones, “considering the fact that he’s the one who officiated it.”

“And you?” Tony rounds on Natasha. “You know everything. Did you—?”

Natasha smiles at him serenely. “Of course,” she drawls lightly. “I was one of their witnesses.”

No one’s really sure what to say to that. Neither Clint nor Coulson really have anything to say on the matter, anyway. They never bothered to try hiding what’s between them; it’s not their fault the rest of the team is fairly oblivious to anything that doesn’t explode or cause mayhem.

It’s Thor who breaks the silence. He gives them both a wide, happy smile and reaches over seize them both by the shoulder. It’s awkward from over the back of the couch, but neither complains much when the God of Thunder declares, “This is a most joyous occasion, my friends! We must celebrate! I shall call Jane to inform her of the news!”

And then he bounds off with a skip in his step.

Bruce offers them both a nod and a smile. “Congratulations, I suppose.” He offers, before excusing himself with a murmur about calling Betty.

Tony is eyeing them both suspiciously. “…you guys haven’t fucked on anything that I sit or eat on, have you?” He demands abruptly. Steve promptly chokes on nothing but air. Clint just throws his head back and laughs. “I’m serious! I need to know if there’s anything I have to burn!”

“Come on, Tony,” Steve reaches over and grabs the sleeve of his shirt, tugging insistently. He gives the two on the couch a smile and says, “Clint, get some rest, okay? It’s good to have you back.” 

Tony continues to complain the whole way down the hall. Clint waits until he can’t hear him anymore before he turns back to his husband with an amused grin.

“You know, I always thought we were really obvious,” he admits. 

Coulson only response is to lean down for a kiss.


End file.
